Deceit: Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller - Book 3 (Caustic) by Brian Spangler

Author:Brian Spangler [Spangler, Brian]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2017-03-25T06:00:00+00:00

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Declan said nothing as he watched Sammi stammer in front of the door, pointing to the drawers under their bed. She spun around once, nodded to the lights, and then did a quick spin back and waved her hand. When she was ready, she paused once more in front of the door where bands of lights grew from gray to white, rapidly flashing twice before the door opened. A rush of air flowed in as Sammi left, washing over his face just as the sounds of activity gripped his ears. Footsteps were the first thing he thought of. Not laughing, or talking—just footsteps.

Declan stretched his neck as far as he could, trying to see down the corridor while the door remained open. The steady sound of marching feet came from the rows of people walking past. None seemed interested in looking at him; instead, they kept their heads straight, firm, and their eyes glued to the lights on the walls. And like so many times before, what he saw left him feeling unsettled and wary.

When the door closed, so too did his concern. Maybe it was just paranoia—that is what he wanted to think, anyway.

Well, that’s going to change, he decided while searching the drawers for his coveralls. Near the bottom, beneath the iridescent whites, he found his old clothes. They stood out against the others; a blemish next to clothes so clean. Was that all he was? Was that all that their Commune was: a blemish? He couldn’t help but compare this place—this seemingly perfect society—to his home.

Searching through his coveralls, he found Sammi’s writing stone. With it he found her lock of hair. A twinge of guilt pressed him for having left it packed away in a drawer. On the day of her cleaning and passing, he’d promised to forever hold onto Sammi’s lock of hair. Without thinking, he now kissed it, held it tightly in his hand. It was only sentimental, but he somehow felt a little more whole.

When he reached the last pocket of his old coveralls, he could see the square outline of what he’d really been looking for. Carefully, he pulled from the pocket the odd parchment his mother had brought from the executive floor. Laying it aside, he tidied the drawer, and then went to compare his mother’s card to the index cards from Sammi.

They were flat and smooth, with blue lines crested by a red one, with sharp corners and crisp edges. Declan inspected everything he could think of. His mother’s strange parchment was, as Sammi had called it, an “index card.” But his mother’s had numbers, and he was certain that they were meant for the VAC Machine. Images of the executive floor came into his mind, and he saw the burly executive guards pushing around his father as they looked for his mother’s satchel. They had wanted the index card, the numbers. But how had it gotten there?

This last question slowed Declan. There was more to it; the story was bigger.

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